30 Day OTP Porn Challenge
by triforcelegends8
Summary: Exactly what the title says it is. Johnlock. PWP. Enjoy. I update as soon as I finish the next chapter, so not daily. Sorreeeee! :P Happy reading! -Follow me on tumblr at triforcelegends8fanfiction for updates on progress!
1. Voyuerism

Voyeurism

It had happened so many times before. He shouldn't have expected anything different than what happens from the other times. It's just it had never happened with anyone but _John_, which was why he kept holding out hope that the next time would be different. He wouldn't get undeniably hard beneath his pants and trousers every time he saw his flatmate and friend undressing, half-naked, or only wrapped in a bath robe after a bath. He would always hope he wouldn't get hard from seeing John this way, but always expected it.

Unable to bring himself to take care of his erection, Sherlock would ignore it until it went down. Taking care of it meant diverting blood from his brain to his cock to feed his more primal need. And that meant distracting himself from the Work. He couldn't have that. he also couldn't have John walking around in nothing but his pants and a robe while he was trying to work. That was even more distracting.

But what could he do? he couldn't very well tell the man to put some clothes on. That would not only be suspicious, but stupid because the man lived here, for Christ's sake. John would look at him funny or… even worse, figure out why Sherlock needed John to cover himself. So Sherlock bore the torture on the days John would venture out of his room in only trousers or pants and a robe.

It wasn't easy, but Sherlock was always able to hide the… excitement in his pants by staying where he was, either on the couch thinking or in the kitchen working on an experiment. Sometimes, though, the detective had to go to his room to hide from the other man, lest he figure out that Sherlock did indeed have human tendencies and needs every now and then.

He never took care of it tough.

One day, Sherlock heard some commotion from upstairs, coming from John's bedroom. He went up as quietly as he could, creeping up each step like a cat stalking its prey, until he reached the man's door. He was just about to knock and ask if everything was alright when he heard John moan a bit too loudly. Heat immediately spread from Sherlock's face to his groin at the wonderful sound and he swallowed thickly.

John was masturbating.

And the more Sherlock thought about it, John touching himself, moaning every time he passed his hand over the head of his dick, and the sound of skin lightly slapping skin, made Sherlock as hard as ever. He ran downstairs and slammed the door to his room shut once he was safely inside. His breathing was ragged and uneven, his cock was swelling with arousal, and his whole body felt hot. This had to stop.

That was when an idea forced its way into Sherlock's mind. Obviously, he would need to relieve himself in a few days if things continued like this, but the thought of just having a wank without _seeing_ John made his stomach tie itself into knots. He needed to see John while he did it. While they both did it. And so, Sherlock had a plan.

The camera hadn't been expensive at all, given the detective's salary. It was small, easy to use, and high quality. Perfect for watching a certain someone while they got themselves off. Setting up the camera in the perfect spot hadn't been hard either. John had gone to Tesco's to get some food for the two and Sherlock saw his chance. The moment John had left, Sherlock rushed upstairs and into John's room, placing the camera in his already picked out spot, and had left, without a trace.

When John had gotten back, he went up to his room, as Sherlock had predicted, and started to wank himself off. The camera was already recording to Sherlock's laptop while the man was working on an experiment, trying to not think too much about John and his hands touching himself. His thoughts all became too much, though, when he could begin to hear John through the thin walls of the flat.

Abruptly, Sherlock stood from his seat, grabbed his laptop, and went into his room to watch John get off with himself. He sat on the bed, his laptop in front of him, and opened the device to see John very roughly, and very quickly, moving his hand up and down on hid member. Sherlock decided to watch from the beginning while the rest of the footage was being recorded as John continued his wank.

Sherlock watched intensely as the beginning of the recording showed John first palming himself through his trousers, eyes closed his concentration. He did this for a while before unzipping his pants, and holding himself firmly in his hand, free of the fabric restriction. Sherlock felt heat rising in his stomach and face, his own member becoming even harder than earlier.

John began to move his hand up and down the shaft of his cock as he reached into the bedside table for something… oh. Lubricant. Of course. He stopped his movements with his hand and squirted some of the oil onto his palm, beginning to pump with renewed vigor as the lubricant did its job to make the member easier to pump.

Suddenly all of this was too much for Sherlock. He could feel his member, hot and throbbing in his trousers, begging to be freed. He groaned in frustration, paused the video, and got comfortable in his bed as he unzipped his own trousers and pulled them off. His erection was more visible now that the dark material of his trousers weren't obscuring it, though it still wasn't exactly out yet. The sleuth played the video as he began to palm himself through his restricting pants.


	2. Masturbation

Masturbation

As the video showed John beginning to pump himself faster, Sherlock's hand began to press on his own member harder. The dark-haired man decided it was time to take his member out of his pants and give it the proper attention it deserved.

The moment Sherlock had his cock in hand, he moaned. He was hard. Extremely hard. And it was all because of John. The detective looked at the screen to see the man pumping insanely fast, his head lain back on his pillow and his other hand grasping the sheets on his side. Sherlock whimpered at the sight and his member gave an unforgiving throb in his hand. He began to pump in slow, languorous movements, taking care to not pass his fingers over the sensitive head.

His concentration was shot when he heard John coming down from his room. Sherlock had forgotten that the video he was watching wasn't in real time and decided it was best to try and finish before John became curious as to what he was up to. Sherlock gripped his member tighter and began to move his hand up and down quicker than before. Still watching the video, Sherlock moaned at the feel of his hand touching his cock and his eyes latched onto the screen, getting hotter at the sight of John doing the same.

The dark-haired man could feel the heat building in his lower stomach, a tell-tale sign that he was nearing his end. Sherlock whimpered again as he accidentally brushed the head of his member with his slightly slick fingers. He didn't have any lubricant, but his pre-cum and sweat worked just fine.

Too focused on trying to keep himself going until the end of the video, Sherlock didn't even hear John in the kitchen making tea. He also didn't even realize he was moaning. And not only moaning, but moaning John's _name_, and rather loudly. Sherlock could feel the pressure building in his member and the heat become all too intense in his belly as John was nearing his end in the video as well.

Sherlock pumped hard and fast as he spilled out on his hand with a loud cry. Spent, sweaty, and slightly shaking, Sherlock laid his head back on the pillows and stayed there for a few minutes, panting hard. He jumped when he heard a knock on his door and went to grab his shirt and pants. He was too slow, though, as John opened the door and asked "Sherlock? You all righ-"

John stopped mid-sentence as he beheld his flatmate's pale skin and naked form with cum on his hands and stomach. He closed his mouth and was just about to leave without another word until his eyes landed on the man's laptop, which was still open. John furrowed his brows as he saw what he thought was his own room. Now, the doctor didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out what had just occurred, but John didn't want to believe it. Had Sherlock really just had a wank… while he had watched John have one as well?

Sherlock was stock still, his eyes wide and fearful and his mouth open. "John, I can- it was- it's not what you think."

"Is that my _room_?" John asked in disbelief. "Did you just- were you- is there a _camera_ in my _room_?" He asked with incredulity.

Sherlock only shook his head slightly and wasn't able to explain anything as John bolted for the stairs, taking two at a time to get to his room. He had seen the angle at which the video was recording and no doubt had an idea of where the camera was. Sherlock quickly cleaned himself up with his sheets and yanked on his shirt, pants, and trousers before shutting the laptop and trying to decide where to hide it.

He heard John coming down the stairs quickly and cursed himself for not being careful enough. He gave up trying to hide the laptop, as John had all the evidence needed to make his own deductions on what just happened and he braced himself for the inevitable conversation to come.


	3. Kink Explanation

Kink Explanation

John barged through the doorway, camera in hand and a look of shocked disbelief all over his face. "What the _hell_ is this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock could only make a strangled stuttering noise from his throat as John stomped over to the edge of his bed.

"Well?" he said impatiently.

"I can explain." was all Sherlock managed. He inwardly cringed at the useless sentence and frowned as John gave a light chuckle.

"Well, I sure hope you can!" John said with a high-pitched voice. This change in his voice didn't escape Sherlock's mind and he narrowed his eyes in concentration on John's body. His chest was rising and falling quickly and his hands were shaking. Sherlock wasn't sure whether it was from John's earlier time with himself or a different reason…

He didn't have time to decide which it might, though, as John reached for his laptop. Sherlock's hand immediately shot out, grabbing John's wrist in a death grip. "Wait, I- it's not…" Sherlock's heaving breath and shaking arms let John know that whatever was on the laptop was more important to Sherlock than any case had been so far.

"Sherlock, I'm sure you already know that I have my… suspicions of what's on there, given all the evidence, so why not let me see the laptop…" John said as he gently removed Sherlock's hand and slowly reached for the laptop, "and see what you were watching." Sherlock could only sit there in bed, embarrassed to the point of short-circuiting and frozen in place as John opened the laptop and played the video from where it had been paused earlier. The distant sound of skin slapping on skin was heard as John watched the rest of the video with wide eyes.

"That's me." he stated. Sherlock only swallowed and refused to respond. John slammed the laptop quickly shut and set it down back on the bed by Sherlock's leg.

They stayed like that, frozen in their respective spots until John cleared his throat and said, "You were watching me…" Sherlock looked anywhere but John. "…just now…. while I was…" Sherlock frowned and was suddenly very interested in the laptop by his leg. "…having a wank?" The crudeness of John's voice and words made the other man visibly cringe.

For Sherlock, words just wouldn't come. He was already struggling to breathe properly, no matter how boring it was, and couldn't find it in himself to form words or coherent sentences.

In a low voice that made Sherlock's member twitch, despite just having been relieved, John said, "Why were you watching me?"

Sherlock could just die right there. As John leaned close, Sherlock made his deductions and was not as embarrassed as before. John was being very… suggestive, whether he was consciously trying to or not.

"I- it was- a… an experiment." Sherlock suggested more to himself than to John.

"An experiment." John repeated flatly.

"Uh… yes." Sherlock replied. He chanced a look at John's face and found the man staring at him with complete shock and dubiety. He definitely didn't believe him and they both knew it. Though there was something else in John eyes that seemed like he wasn't too bothered by what Sherlock had done. In fact, he seemed slightly thrilled by it. Sherlock's eyes glanced down at John's trousers and his now even wider eyes met the other man's again. John was _hard_.

John had noticed Sherlock's eyes glance downwards and his look of incredulity dropped and was replaced by something that could only be described as lust. He leaned in close to Sherlock, who leaned back the closer John got, and said in a low, rough voice, "Do you like watching me?"

Before Sherlock could think to be surprised by the bluntness of the question, he found himself nodding. John, taking this as encouragement, climbed over the laptop and onto Sherlock and gently pushed him back. Sherlock willingly obliged and he followed John's hand with his eyes as it traveled down to the bulge in his trousers. When John reached his zipper, he unzipped it slowly, teasingly, and Sherlock could feel himself getting hard again.

When John took his member out of his trousers he asked in a lustful voice "Will you watch me?"

Sherlock's already wide eyes got even wider at the question and he furrowed his brows at John, asking him a silent question of his own.

"I want you to watch me, Sherlock. I like it when you watch me. It's… oh God, Sherlock." John had practically moaned his name as he leaned down and planted a very sensual kiss on Sherlock's lips. He leaned back up and began to pump his member slowly.


	4. First Time Together

First Time Together

With John straddling his lap and his touching himself in front of Sherlock, it was almost too much for the man. John furthered the sleuth's half-hard erection by rolling his hips on his lap, eliciting a moan from the dark-haired man as he dropped his head back onto the pillows.

"You like that, Sherlock?" John breathed.

Sherlock whimpered and moaned loudly as John abandoned his own member in favor of touching Sherlock's, which was still clothed. Sherlock watched John as he unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock free of his pants, throbbing and leaking pre-cum. He was already fully hard just from watching John and felling him on his lap.

John smirked at Sherlock, who looked away with cheeks flushed bright red. This was the best thing that could be happening to the detective, but it was still embarrassing all the same. He had had his suspicions of John having feelings for him, but he never thought the man felt like this towards him. It was almost as if John was waiting for Sherlock to make the first move in their relationship that could become more than friends and was relishing-

A rough pull on his member brought Sherlock back to the moment he currently in, with John on top of him, pulling and pumping his member into a frenzy. The pull was done as if to say 'pay attention to me and stop thinking so much' and did its job spectacularly. Sherlock's full attention was focused on John's hand moving up and down along his shaft and occasionally passing his thumb over the tip, causing the dark-haired man to buck his hips slightly and whimper.

Sherlock watched John wank him off for a few minutes before he noticed John's own erection, already swelled with arousal. Tentatively, Sherlock reached down to still John's hand and moved his hips to hint at John that they should change their position. John took the hint and swung his leg off of the detective and laid on his side, one arm propping his head up and the other beckoning Sherlock to move closer. He did so and gasped when John's member touched his own. He tensed immediately and was about to push away when john shushed him and said, "It's alright, Sherlock. We don't have to."

Even though John had not specified what they didn't have to do, Sherlock had a pretty good idea. He shook his head and said shakily, "No, it's… it's fine." He eased himself into John's embrace and watched intently as John moved his hand and grasped both of their members in his hand and pumped slowly. The reaction was immediate. Sherlock whimpered and dropped his head in the crook of John's shoulder, biting his lip to focus more on the pain than the pleasure.

"It's okay." John said roughly. Obviously he was feeling the same as Sherlock or otherwise wouldn't have sounded so done in. "Just… stop that." He said, indicating biting his lip with a kiss.

When Sherlock relieved the pressure from his lip, he moaned and writhed beneath John's touch as he quickened the pace.

"John." Sherlock said as he felt him nearing his end.

"Yeah, I know." John replied gruffly. Their members were throbbing hard and they could both feel the heat in them and the pit of their stomachs intensifying.

Without warning, Sherlock came with a cry and John soon followed suit after a few more hard strokes. Panting and sweating, John and Sherlock laid in the bed for a few minutes before the sandy-haired man decided to speak.

"Um… You okay?" he asked. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with each panting breath. He had collapsed onto his back and laid his arms out perpendicular to his body, one arm underneath John.

"Hm?" Sherlock hummed. "What? Yeah, fine. I'm fine." Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and found John staring down at him and smirking. "What?" asked Sherlock defensively.

John opened his mouth, about to say something when Sherlock's phone pinged in alert at a text. The sleuth glanced at the bedside table behind John and got up from the bed. He zipped up his trousers and went over the nightstand and picked up his phone.

Upon reading the text, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and typed away a reply.

"Lestrade?" John asked.

"No." replied Sherlock. It was all he said and when he felt John's stare he continued. "Oh. Just Mycroft."

Something in Sherlock's voice gave away what the text had said bothered him more than he let on. "What's he want?" the doctor asked.

"He says he wants to see me." Sherlock answered.

"Are you?"

"Going to see him? God no. Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked, struck at John even thinking he would do as his brother wishes.

"Maybe it's important." John suggested.

"Oh, I highly doubt that." Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

"Why not just go? You know he always bugs you 'til he gets annoyed with you not responding.

"I might. He never texts anyways. I think he has something interesting to tell me. Maybe trying to keep me from a new case Lestrade has…" Sherlock mused thoughtfully. As Sherlock grabbed his suit jacket from the floor, John zipped up his own trousers and got up from the bed, stretching, a proud look in his eyes.

"What's that look?" Sherlock asked before he could stop himself.

"Look? Oh, nothing, Sherlock." John said with a smile. He walked over to Sherlock and gave him a light kiss on the lips. "Be back when you can, alright?"

Sherlock blushed and nodded once, watching John retreat into the kitchen to continue making tea. He shook his head, to scatter the lewd thoughts that were creeping into his mind, grabbed his coat, and left the flat to annoy his older brother.


	5. Explaining Their Relationship

Explaining Their Relationship To A Disapproving Third Party

Once Sherlock had arrived, via Mycroft's car with Anthea inside accompanying him, and entered the Building of the Diogenes Club he could immediately smell the expensive alcohol, tailored suits, and permeate through the air. Silently, he was escorted into Mycroft's office where the smell of alcohol was more strongly. Stressful day at work then, Sherlock deduced. It's not like he did much anyways, he mused, so it was more likely he had been getting annoyed with _people_.

Sherlock smirked to himself as the door behind him was shut. His elder brother could be more of a drama queen than him at times. Having his secret lair, drinking extremely expensive scotch when he had to deal with normal human beings, and texting to get his attention for whatever reason he had. Maybe it ran in the Holmes family.

Regardless if being dramatic was in his blood, Mycroft was currently sitting behind his desk with a scotch in hand and a tense smile on his face.

"Hello, brother dear. How are things?" drawled Mycroft in his slightly posh dialect.

"You couldn't care less. Get to the point of me being here." Sherlock said with a scalding tone in his voice.

Mycroft opened his mouth, inhaling a breath to speak, before he froze, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock, looking him up and down, deducing him. A few moments of this passed before the elder Holmes brother's brows shot up and his mouth slightly gaped.

Sherlock inwardly cursed, as he remembered not taking the time to clean himself up properly after the… the time with John just thirty minutes earlier.

"So you've finally broken, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked with wicked smile on his face. His eyes showed disbelief and disapproval and his hands were folded in front of him, thinking he held something over Sherlock because of this.

"I wouldn't say broken." was all Sherlock had to reply after a few seconds pf opening and closing his mouth over and over again like a suffocating fish.

"And what would you say then?"

Sherlock swallowed and said softly, "… That it's none of your business." He looked away from his brother's eyes and was suddenly very interested in the dust on the left side of the room.

"Oh, how sweet." said Mycroft. "You care for him. You know, I did have my suspicions about you two, you know? But I thought you were above being _normal_." he smirked at Sherlock and took another sip of his scotch.

Sherlock's head snapped towards his brother and his fists were clenched inside his coat. "I'm not _normal_. Just because I'm able to understand sentiment better than you does not make me _normal_." The dark-haired man turned on his heel and grabbed the doorknob, about to yank the door open before Mycroft spoke up.

"Sentiment? Sherlock, aren't you the one always complaining about normal people and their inability to think due to _sentiment_?"

Sherlock froze and his eyes were locked on where his hand was gripping the doorknob. Mycroft had a point… But no. He was wrong. "Just because… I… because we have… sentiment for each other does not make either of us any less intelligent. And he is not normal." he said turning with eyes alit with anger. "Don't insult him like that."

Mycroft, not caring about Sherlock's empty threat, simply huffed in laughter and said, "I never thought I would live to see the day when Sherlock Holmes would fall because of a… _friend_. Well I guess you two are more than friends now, aren't you? Since you seem to be… shagging. Ugh. What a detestable word. I can say the same for your… relationship with John."

Sherlock stomped over to Mycroft's desk and slammed his hands on the desk, making the older man jump. "And what is so detestable about it, Mycroft?" he seethed.

Mycroft merely took another, long sip of his drink and smiled at the detective. "Oh, nothing. I'm sure he'll be quite happy. You as well, no matter how far you fall."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and mumbled, "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean…"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually. Now, back to what I was going to tell you in the first place…"

When Sherlock got back, he was radiating anger and it was completely evident to John. The sleuth yanked his coat off, tossed it on the coat rack, and stomped over to the couch, flopping down on it heavily.

John, who was typing on his computer when Sherlock had stormed in, watched the man's tantrum with a concerned smile on his face.

"I'm gunna guess he made you unable to work on the case Lestrade has?" John asked once Sherlock had settled into the couch. He was laying down with his back facing John and his legs brought up to his midsection.

After a moment of silence, Sherlock replied, "Not that."

John pursed his lips. "What then?"

"… He knows about um…" Sherlock rolled over onto his back and looked at John with blush rising on his pale cheeks. "… Um… us… you know… earlier."

The sandy-haired man looked around the room for a few seconds as if the answer was hidden in the corners of the flat before saying, "What you mean- oh."

"Yes." Sherlock said as he turned back on his side.

"… What did you say?" John asked in a low voice Sherlock had to strain his ears to hear. The tone in them, however, was loud and clear. He had thought Sherlock had dismissed his older brother's accusations.

Sherlock sighed and sat up on the couch. "Does it matter what I told him?"

"Well I mean… I guess not, but still…" John said vaguely.

"But what?" the dark-haired man pressured.

"I mean… what…. what do you tell yourself?" the doctor said raising his eyes to lock them with the other man's.

Sherlock swallowed and was only able to look into John's eyes for no more than a few seconds before breaking the stare and saying, "Does it matter…?"

John looked down at his computer and sighed. "I… I guess not… Never mind."

"John, I didn't mean-" Sherlock started.

The sandy-haired man interrupted, "No. It's fine, Sherlock. Just never mind." He got up from his desk and headed towards the stairs, most likely to his room, when he felt a tug on the sleeve of his jumper.

"John, I don't know what I tell myself. I had never- uh- never had- relationships are-" The detective winced at his incoherent sentences and cursed himself for being so flustered about the subject. He sighed deeply and leaned forward.

Before John could pull away or ask what the man was doing, he found his lips mingling with Sherlock's. A second later, the taller man pulled back hastily, breath coming out in short, light pants and the blush on his face reddening. His eyes were slightly glazed over and they were focused on John's lips.

"Does that help?" He finally said. John slowly smiled and nodded.

"We should talk, though." Sherlock groaned and the shorter man rolled his eyes at the other man's ability to be so childlike, especially when it came to discussing matters that were serious to other people. But he was thankful when the man went and sat down in his chair and gave John an impatient expression, as if to say, 'Well, let's go ahead and get this over with.' John smiled, sat down in his chair opposite Sherlock's, and they talked.

Their talk had been awkward at first, Sherlock blushing each time John smiled at him the way he had been wanting to smile at him for a while now and John laughing each time Sherlock had trouble expressing the 'sentiment' he felt for John. But as they kept talking, it had become easier. And by the time they were finished they were both smiling at each other as if they had been in a loving relationship ever since they met each other.

They had discussed what they thought of their relationship. John wanted them to further their relationship and not just have a one-night stand or just be there whenever they wanted a good shag. He wanted them to be more than that. John wanted a… _romantic_ relationship with Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock didn't know what to say to that. All he knew and all he could tell John was that he felt something for John which he knew was more than feelings you have for a friend.

They had also talked about whether they would tell the friends they knew, like Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade. They decided John would explain their newfound relationship when Sherlock wasn't with him so the man didn't feel obligated to insult anyone who made an obvious or rude comment on their relationship.

Around the time their talk was coming to an end, Sherlock had gotten a text from Lestrade bout a double murder. He had explained the main problems they were having with the case and the detective decided it was no more than a 4, which means he was not to leave the flat. So he asked John to go in his stead and get whatever papers and pictures from the scene Sherlock would need to solve the case. John had gladly agreed to go.

When john arrived at the crime scene, he got all the pictures, papers, notes, and whatever else he thought Sherlock might need to solve the case quickly. And, after a moment's thought, he decided to tell Lestrade about their relationship. It was as good a time as any.

"Hey, Greg. I've got somethin' to tell you." John called out to the DI when he seemed to be less busy than before.

"What is it? Somethin' wrong?" Greg asked concerned.

"Hm? Oh no! Nothin' like that, we're fine." John replied with a nervous laugh. "Um… Well me and Sherlock… I guess we're, uh… together now."

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and a knowing half-smile began to form on his face. "Well, wow. Alright then. You do know that that's none of my business, right?"

John scratched the back of his head and gave a bashful smile. "Well, yeah, but… I mean we just thought you should know." In his peripheral vision, John could see Donovan and Anderson with disgusted looks on their faces. He chose to ignore them as he continued his conversation with Greg.

"Well… thanks I guess. How long though? You know a lot of us, most of us in fact, thought you two were shagging from the beginning. The only doubt we had was because of Sherlock's… you know, always acting like he was above all that."

"Uh, just recently." John said and at Lestrade's amused look, he nodded. They both knew what 'just recently' meant. "Well, I should get back. Sherlock's probably dying of boredom already without this stuff." He said holding up all the papers he had gathered regarding the murders. "We'll try to get this back to you soon. Knowing him, within a few minutes of getting back."

John smiled and waved goodbye to the DI, who was smiling broadly as well. He had obviously been waiting for news like this, ever since Sherlock had introduced John as a 'colleague'. Before he could get to the main street to hail a cab, he felt someone grab his jacket sleeve. He turned around with a guarded look on his face, somehow knowing it would be either Donovan, Anderson, or both of them. It was Donovan with a snide face covering her features.

"You and the freak? Really?"

John yanked his sleeve from her grasp and said sternly, "Yeah. What of it?"

"Oh, nothing. Just never expected someone like you to fall for a freak's tricks like that." She said innocently.

"Stop calling him that. And he didn't trick me. Mind your business." John retorted and turned to stomp away from the woman.

He stopped though, when she called out, "I hope you and the freak get over this soon. Save the world being sick to their stomach."

"I think the world had already been sick to their stomach ever since you joined the police force. Do the world a favor and do your job right, bitch." John retorted and promptly turned on his heel and hailed a cab that had come by at just the right time. He had left an open-mouthed Donovan behind, who glared at him once he had gotten in the cab and she had snapped out of her surprise. John smiled to himself angrily the whole way back to flat.


	6. Nipple Play

Nipple Play

When John had returned, Sherlock, being keen and clever, had noticed he was rather irritated. He had asked what was the problem and John, as if he had been waiting to be asked, promptly turned around from the sink where he was rinsing out dishes and told Sherlock about Donovan's comment. Sherlock then got up and grabbed his coat, making it clear he was going out.

"Where are you going?" John had asked.

"Where do you think? To the crime scene to, uh… _talk_ to Donovan."

"That won't be necessary." John had said with a proud smile on his face. He then told Sherlock about his retort and the detective burst into laughter and a wide, beaming smile. He then walked over to John and gave him a deep kiss.

Before John could kiss back and wrap his arm around Sherlock's back like he was going to, Sherlock retreated to the doorway with a deep blush high on his cheeks.

"Wh… where are you going now?" John asked breathlessly.

"Out. I need samples." the detective replied in a rather well-controlled voice. But the blush and nervous expression on his face contradicted his vocal facade and John smiled.

"Right then." he said simply. "Go and get your… samples." John didn't know what samples he meant nor did he want to know in fear of it being something illegal or downright grotesque. He said goodbye to Sherlock and continued rinsing the dishes.

The next morning, John woke to find Sherlock in the seat at the kitchen table looking through his microscope.

"Morning." John said sleepily. He walked over to the man and closed his eyes as he ran his hands over Sherlock's chest from behind him. He felt the dark-haired man jump and opened his eyes to see Sherlock looking straight at the wall opposite him and a blush spreading on his neck.

John smirked playfully, kissed the nape of his neck, and ran his hands over the upper part of his chest again. Sherlock gave a light, pleasurable sigh and his eyes half-closed. John inwardly laughed as he felt the hardness of the man's nipples beneath his tight shirt. He stopped rubbing Sherlock's chest and instead pinched the man's nipples into further hardness. Sherlock gasped slightly and laid his hand on John's. The doctor could feel the man's quick pulse on the back of his hand and smiled.

Slowly, he reached to unbutton the man's shirt and heard Sherlock swallow.

"You, okay?" John whispered into the man's ear.

Sherlock jerkily nodded and mumbled "Mm-hm."

John softly kissed the outer shell of the detective's ear and continued to unbutton his shirt. When it was unbuttoned enough for John to slide his hands onto the man's bare chest, he did so and rubbed at Sherlock's nipples slowly. The man exhaled a shuddering breath as John pinched lightly again and kissed the back of his neck.

"Let's go to your room…" John suggested in a lustful whisper at Sherlock's back. The dark-haired man's already red blush intensified as John pulled at his arm, walking towards the bedroom. Sherlock complied with his wishes and it was only seconds before John was on top of him in the bed, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

Locking his eyes with Sherlock's, he leaned down deliberately slow and flicked his tongue out onto Sherlock's perk and sensitive nipple. They both moaned quietly when he did this, John at the man's taste and Sherlock at the feeling of the sandy-haired man's tongue on him. Sherlock bit his lip when the noise came out of his mouth and buried the side of his face in the pillow.

John reached for the other man's head and soothed him by petting his head. "It's alright, Sherlock. Look at me, love." he said as he leaned down again and place his mouth fully on the tender and hard spot of skin. Sherlock whimpered, but kept his head up to watch John mouth his nipple as his hand was massaging the other.

Sherlock sighed over and over again as he felt John's tongue push on his nipple and him suck on what skin was in his mouth. He moaned as John shifted his weight and rested his hips on Sherlock's hardening erection. The doctor gave one last, tortuous lick as his hand travelled down to Sherlock's trousers.

"Still okay?" he asked with his hand resting on the button of his trousers, silently asking permission to go further.

"God yes." Sherlock breathed.

John smiled fondly at the dark-haired man and flicked open the button and pulled down the zipper on Sherlock's trousers.


	7. Rimming

Rimming

When the button and zipper were undone, John pulled off Sherlock's trousers and stared intensely for a moment at the bulge in Sherlock's pants. He quickly took off his own shirt and watched as Sherlock took his off the rest of the way and crawled up to his face and kissed him.

"At least buy me a drink first." John said sarcastically as Sherlock immediately opened his mouth and slightly rubbed his hips against John's.

Sherlock chuckled softly and gave John a nervous smile. As his hands travelled down to the sleuth's clothed erection, Sherlock laid his head back onto the pillow and took a deep breath to calm himself. His breath caught in his throat though when John's hand plunged into his pants and grasped Sherlock's cock in a tight hold.

He half-moaned, half-whimpered as John stroked his member in slow, deliberate strokes. He was able to expertly take off the other man's pants while still stroking and not breaking pace. As he caressed his member into a full erection he planted kisses down the man's heaving chest. At the spot above his groin, John looked up to see Sherlock looking down at him with cloudy, half-lidded eyes, lips parted and his cheeks flushed a deep red.

The look of pure want on Sherlock's face almost sent John over the edge. Trying to control himself, he lightly bit down on the man's sensitive skin above his cock. It helped John calm down, but made Sherlock jump when his teeth pinched the pale skin. The sandy-haired man leaned forward, abandoning the man's skin for a moment, and kissed him deeply.

Sherlock moaned and plunged his tongue into John's mouth as his hips bucked into hands. John quickened his pace, pumping the dark-haired man's cock hard enough to leave bruises on the base.

Sherlock squirmed beneath John's touch and whimpered, "M… More, John…" He was panting now, his eyes closed and mouth open. He was obviously ready to release and John felt a pang of disappointment that he couldn't bring the man to come from just touching him like he was now. That was when John's eyes alit with an idea.

John broke off the kiss and trailed them down Sherlock's pale body, which was taut with the need to release. His lips ghosted over the tip of the man's cock and Sherlock tensed. John kept going, however, and lifted the sleuth's legs up and apart.

"Wh- what are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked in a shaking voice.

"It's alright, love. You okay?" John asked back. He grabbed Sherlock's cock again and began pumping quickly. When Sherlock moaned, writhed, and arched his back off the bed, John leaned forward and licked at the entrance of Sherlock's hole.

Than man came with a cry, his legs wrapping around John's shoulders and his hands gripping the sheets tightly. John continued to lick and lavish the man's entrance until his orgasm was complete. Once it was, he lifted his head and smiled at the sight before him.

Sherlock's eyes were closed, his cheeks were flushed a deep, crimson red. Sweat was covering his body like a thin layer of dew on the grass in the morning. His hands were relaxed beside him in the sheets and his cum had travelled all the way up to the man's neck. It was beautiful and John felt him rock hard member twitch at the sight.

John rolled off of Sherlock and unzipped his own pants, hissing at the feeling of the rough fabric scraping at the sensitive, throbbing organ. He tentatively grabbed the shaft of his member and began stroking slowly. After a few minutes, John fastened his stroking and moaned loudly.

Sherlock spoke. "You… Do you want me to… uh… help you?" He sat up on his elbows and looked down at John's hand moving on his cock. "I can help." he said, more serious.

"Mm… yeah…. please, oh god, please Sherlock." John moaned.

Sherlock inhaled and positioned himself between John, knees bent at the man's calves and his hands on both sides of his hips. He reached one hand to John's member, now abandoned, and began to pump fast.


	8. Oral Sex

Oral

Sherlock's quick strokes were accompanied by John's loud, guttural moans. As the detective's hand pumped John's member hard and fast, he could feel John's eyes on him. He looked up from where his hand was wrapped around John's cock and saw the man's eyes half-lidded, filled with desire and… something else.

Sherlock's pace faltered at the unknown look in John's eyes and that earned him a whining grunt from the shorter man.

"S- Sorry." Sherlock apologized as he focused his undivided attention on giving his friend a hand job. But were they really still friends? Did friends do this kind of thing to each other? Were they… lovers? The thought being the epitome of sentiment, it almost repulsed Sherlock. Almost.

"It's… fine," John said, his voice strained. He clenched and unclenched his fists in the sheets and he tried to spread his legs wider to allow the dark-haired man easier access to his cock. "Ugh… Oh God. Sherlock, please…. Oh, please, please, please…" he babbled through the delirium the heat was causing all over his body, which was especially concentrated in his member and lower stomach. However, it was only a low kindle, not enough to bring him to climax, John realized. He needed something else, something more, something…

The doctor's eyes roamed over his own taut figure as well as Sherlock's, but when they came to rest on the man's pink, plump lips, John's primal instincts were begging to take over and use the man however he wanted, as long as he was brought to release. He thankfully held his sanity and groaned in frustration at his predicament.

He knew Sherlock was new at all this. You'd have to be a real idiot not to see that he was slightly uncomfortable with everything they had done. He had enjoyed it, of course, but still uncomfortable all the same. John had been as patient and slow with him as possible, he had not forced himself on the man, nor had he given him considerable space when Sherlock was nervous. He might have been a little greedy, yes, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind. He even seemed to be getting used to the fact that their relationship had taken a huge turn for the better, and was getting more relaxed with the idea of sex with him.

Regarding sex between the two, John noticed Sherlock had slowed his pace considerably and was staring intently at the sandy-haired man, his mouth slightly parted as if he had been about to say something.

"John?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Ye… Yeah?" John said gruffly.

Sherlock swallowed audibly. "You… You haven't… come yet."

John gave a half-smile and ran his hands through his sweaty hair. "I know. I'm… I'm getting there."

"You're lying," the sleuth said without hesitation or sympathy. Then in a softer, kinder tone he whispered, "What do you need, John?"

John locked eyes with Sherlock. "I…" he glanced down at the man's lips and shivered slightly at the thought of those soft, wet lips wrapped around his-

Sherlock's mouth dropped open a little as realization dawned on his face. "Oh. I… I don't… really know how…" he said, sounding embarrassed.

"It's fine. I mean- I mean, you don't have to, but- it's fine, Sherlock," John said with a weak smile.

The detective's tense gaze dropped from John's and rested on the man's member, red and throbbing with need for release. He licked his lips and shifted closer to the doctor's groin.

"Sherlock," John said abruptly, "you don't have to." The sincerity in the sandy-haired man's voice made Sherlock look up. He was met with kind, soft blue eyes that seemed to see into the sleuth's very heart and soul.

"I want to."

Sherlock gripped the base of John's cock firmly and tentatively licked the red-flushed tip of it. John made a moaning sound in the back of his throat and lowered his head onto the pillows beneath him as the other man continued to lick and lightly suck at the head of his member.

The tongue and lips that were teasing his cock were no longer doing so as Sherlock spoke. "What… What else do I do?" he asked in a quiet voice.

John inhaled a steady breath before saying, "It was… fine. It felt good."

"But it's not enough," Sherlock stated, "what else do I do?"

John sighed and looked up from where his head had been resting on the comforting pillows. He saw Sherlock's face, flushed and sweating next to his own member, which was in much the same state. Despite his better judgment, John's hand reached out to grip the man's dark curls and said in a rough voice, "You- you take me in your mouth as far," he cleared his throat, "as far down as you can."

Sherlock's eyes lingered on John's face for a moment longer before breaking away and resting on the throbbing member in front of him. He swallowed thickly and exhaled a shaky breath before opening his mouth and taking in the entire length of John's cock. John cried out and gripped tighter in Sherlock's curls, while involuntarily bucking his hips into the man's mouth. Sherlock pulled back slightly, but kept his mouth on John's member and stayed still. He lifted his eyes to John's and waited patiently for him to tell him what to do next.

John, finally noticing the other man's look, released his hair and rested his hands on his thighs next to Sherlock's hands, and said, "Oh, uh… Um, you're supposed to, uh, s-suck gently, and uh- move your head up and down on it."

Sherlock's eyes lowered and he began to suck as well as he could on John's cock. The sandy-haired man tossed his head back and moaned loudly, digging his fingers into his thighs. The dark-haired man smiled as well as he could and began to pull back off of John when the other man gasped quietly, making Sherlock stop.

"Ah, don't… try not to use your teeth, love," he said in a strained voice. He was struggling to speak past the pleasure, Sherlock deduced.

The detective did as he was told, keeping his teeth off of John's member as best as he could while still sucking and dragging his head back. When his lips reached the tip of the other man's prick, Sherlock took a quick moment to breathe through his nose before taking the member back into his mouth. John panted out a breath and clenched and unclenched his hands on his thighs, probably leaving bruises, but then he didn't really care.

Sherlock's eyes were alight with knowledge that John liked his tongue touching the tip of his cock and that it was also going to be very sensitive now. He ran his tongue up and down the other man's shaft while sucking. Sherlock took his time to the base, stopping when his nose touched the area above the other man's groin. He could feel the head of John's cock at the back of his throat and realized it was near impossible to suck with the obstruction so deep in his mouth.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John moaned out. "Oh God… please, please, Sherlock," he begged. He felthis painfully hard cock needing to release now. He just needed more from Sherlock. "F-faster," he said sharply without thinking. He inwardly cursed himself for being so demanding of his partner. It wasn't the man's fault he didn't know what to do.

Sherlock immediately obliged, sensing that John's climax was imminent. He bobbed his head quickly, taking John's entire member each time and licking as much as possible up and down his shaft, as John seemed to like it. He couldn't breathe all too well, but Sherlock didn't care, all he cared about now was bringing John to climax, and he knew that if he continued what he was doing for much longer, he would succeed.

John was panting now, moaning with each exhale of breath. He could feel the sleuth's tongue grazing the underside of his cock with each movement of his head and could feel the heat in his belly building to unimaginable temperatures.

His orgasm hit him hard, his whole body convulsing as his hands shot up to Sherlock's head, holding him still as he came in the man's mouth. Sherlock made a sound of surprise past John's cock, but obediently stayed where he was held as the last pulses of John's orgasm finished.

When he was done, John collapsed, boneless and numb throughout his entire body. He let his hand fall from Sherlock's head and looked at him, and was met with a look of distraught.

"Oh," John said, realizing the poor man had come in his mouth. "Here," he grabbed a bin and held it up near Sherlock, who slowly leaned over and then spit the thick, white fluid into the bin.

Once John set the bin down, he locked eyes with Sherlock. The man looked nervous and out of place. "Come here," John said and held his arms out. "Thank you," he whispered into his ear as the man settled in beside him.

Sherlock nodded.

After a few moments of silence Sherlock opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by John's growling stomach. They took a moment to look at the man's belly, then at each other, and promptly burst into laughter.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked, amused.

"Yeah, a bit. Dinner?" John suggested with an adorable, crooked smile.

Sherlock smiled back and replied, "Of course."


	9. Public Sex

Public Sex

Instead of dinner at a normal restaurant like Sherlock had initially thought, he and John were at a friendly and affordable pub. The Windsor Castle. Being relatively close to 221B Baker Street, it was Sherlock's first pick, once he had found out John wanted to go to a pub.

"You going to eat?" John asked with a hopeful look gleaming in his eyes.

Sherlock took a quick moment to think before answering, "No. I'm fine."

"Come on," said the sandy-haired man, "You haven't eaten anything all day."

"I ate yesterday, I'm fine," the other man said in a definite tone.

John sighed and looked off to the side, his doctoral instincts wanting to force the man to eat _something_. He knew Sherlock didn't need to eat as often as normal people did, but it would make him feel better if the man would at least eat when John could _see_. It would put his mind at ease that he was actually eating.

A few minutes later, a waiter came by and set down a plate of fish and chips and two glasses filled to the brim with a golden-brown liquid, a thin layer of foam settling at the top.

Sherlock furrowed his brows and looked at John curiously.

"Drink up," John said as he picked up one of the glasses and took a big gulp before Sherlock could utter a word. The sandy-haired man set his drink down and glanced expectantly between the other man and the full glass sitting in front of him.

Sherlock, not wanting to waste money or disappoint John again with him already not eating, sighed heavily, and let a crooked smile slip past his façade. He grabbed the glass, taking a larger swig than John would have thought possible. When John noticed Sherlock was taking more than one drink, he took up his own glass and downed it as fast as he could.

Once they both finished their drinks, Sherlock and John broke into broad smiles and fits of giggles.

"This is going to be a fun night." John said and ordered them another round of drinks.

After their second round, John had started to feel a serious buzz. After their third, he felt and off balance. Now, on their fourth, he could safely be labelled as drunk. Although, smashed was closer to what he was now.

Sherlock seemed to be much in the same state as John. His eyes were glazed over in a drunken haze, he was having trouble staying upright in his seat, and his hand always took a minute to work and find its way to the glass.

John smirked and took a moment to appreciate the dark-haired man's features when he was looking away. The color high on his defined cheekbones was a tinted red, his eyes half-lidded and looking around the room, his full lips wet from the drink and redder than before from chewing on it nervously.

Wait, nervous? Was Sherlock nervous? Why was he nervous?

"Hey," John said resting a hand on the man's arm. "You all right?"

Sherlock slowly turned to look at John and nodded, saying, "Yes. I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

John smiled and said, "Oh, no reason. Just thought… I don't know. Never mind."

Sherlock glanced down where John's hand was placed, still on his arm, and looked back up at John with a curious glint in his piercing, blue eyes.

John, assuming his hand was an unwelcome presence, began to withdraw it, but was stopped when Sherlock's other hand rested on top. "It's fine," he said in a low voice through a half-smile. The sandy-haired man's member, which had already been forming an erection, gave a slight twitch at the tone of the man's voice. It was like pure, dark silk, wrapping around his body tightly. Sherlock gave John a knowing look and licked his lips. Looking behind him, the dark-haired man shifted in his seat, tightening his grip on John's hand.

John looked behind him to see what Sherlock had seen and his member twitched again when he saw the one-person bathroom in the back of the pub. Slowly, John turned back to Sherlock, who had a devilish smile spread across his face.

"I need to use the loo," he said as he extracted his arm from John's hand and got up from his chair. After a moment's hesitation, John followed, stumbling into chairs and people and apologizing with a guilty smile after.

John had barely made it into the room before he was pushed against the wall and his mouth was being attacked by Sherlock's. He could taste the man, a taste so undeniably Sherlock mixed with the alcohol he had drank.

Before he was snogged to death, John pushed Sherlock back and let his hand travel down the dark-haired man's waist to the growing bulge in his pants. When John grabbed the man's erection through his trousers, Sherlock leaned his head forward and moaned softly. John smiled and slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, relishing the way the man groaned when John's hand ghosted over his groin.

"Get on with it, John," Sherlock groaned as he pulled the sandy-haired man flush against his own body, rutting against his hand, which was trapped between the two.

John smirked while he obligingly groped Sherlock and said, "Hold on Sherlock, we'll get there."

John lightly pushed Sherlock away far enough to unzip his own trousers and pull his pants down enough to free his now fully hard cock. When his member was free from the material, Sherlock freed his own member and pulled John close again.

When their cocks touched, John and Sherlock gasped and began to rut against the other, their hands on each other's back, neck, hair, and waist as they kissed roughly and desperately. One of John's hands found its way to their members and gripped them both in a wide, firm hold and began to pump at a fast and vigorous pace to give the attention their painfully hard cocks deserved.

John moaned as the heads of their members touched, smooth, taut skin slipping against the other. He quickened the speed of his hand, and felt Sherlock tense up before warm, white come spilled over his hand and down his wrist, hitting the floor as it rolled off. A few seconds later, after moving his hand even faster and gripping tighter, John came as well. He let out a cry as the warm fluid pulsed out from his member.

Once they were both finished, they cleaned up, using the rough paper towels in the bathroom to wipe off the come from John's hand and the floor. Luckily, none had made it on their clothes. As quickly as possible, they exited the bathroom, not making eye contact with any of the knowing glances, paid their bill with a generous amount of change, and left the bar hurriedly.


	10. Awkward Sex

Awkward Sex

Once back at 221B, Sherlock and John stumbled out of the cab, throwing their bill into the vehicle as best they could before staggering up to the doorway and fumbling with the keys. Sherlock, being the more sober of the two, was able to get the keys in the door and open it with relative ease before stumbling inside and into the stairs. John followed quickly after.

They headed upstairs, both giving the other suggestive smirks all the way to the second floor of the flat until they settled into the couch close together.

Minutes passed in drunken silence before John got up. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"I think we have a few bottles of wine here ssssomewhere," John slurred. In the back of his mind, Sherlock knew that they didn't need anything else to drink, but instead of stopping John and telling him so, he just smiled and followed John into the kitchen. After searching in cabinets, in the fridge, and in the drawers, they finally found the cabinet where they stored the alcohol they occasionally bought. While Sherlock pulled out the bottles of wine from the high cabinet, John was busy looking up and down the man's stretching form, all lanky limbs and slightly muscled build. The sandy-haired man licked his lips and could feel his body heating up, his member twitching in excitement once again.

In his drunken stupor, John walked towards the other man, reached out, and groped his arse making the dark-haired man jump and almost drop the two bottles of wine.

"John?" Sherlock asked as he turned around, amused.

"Sssorry," John apologized bashfully, like a schoolboy caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

Sherlock smiled lazily and grasped John's arm. "No, it's… fine," he said as he pulled the sandy-haired man close and kissed him sloppily. As John was bringing his hands up to Sherlock's face, the dark-haired man suddenly pulled back with a wicked smile on his face. He held up the bottles of wine in each hand and said, "Let's drink."

And so they drank.

One hour, a serious talk of where everything originated from, and one and a half bottles of wine later, the two men were having trouble staying awake on the couch as they struggled to finish the second bottle of wine. When they were able to focus on something else other than staying awake, they burst into fits of giggles each time, laughing until their faces were red at whatever was in front of them, funny or not.

Sherlock was doing his best to retain at least the mask of being sober enough to think, failing whenever John asked him a question of what color something was or how long had they been sitting on the couch. It felt like it had been days, but he wasn't tired like he was when he was up for days. So that had to mean something, right? Sherlock just didn't know what it meant exactly except that it felt like days to him.

John, however, was the kind of drunk people get when they want enough liquid courage to go and talk to that hot lady at the other end of the room. In this case, Sherlock was that hot lady and John was that kind of drunk. And, boy, were they talking. They had covered possibly every subject there was to talk about within an hour and hadn't even finished drinking yet.

After groping Sherlock's arse from before, John had gotten half-hard. Now, though, he was fully hard under his trousers, his erection pressing painfully against his jeans zipper, and he noticed how beautiful Sherlock was, especially when he put his lips to the bottle of wine. John's imagination ran away with him, letting him see visions of Sherlock's mouth around his hard cock while John finished the rest of the wine. He also had images running through his mind of Sherlock beneath him, completely naked and open before him, ready for John to take him. John's throat tightened and his member twitched again with those thoughts and his face froze with the realization that he wanted Sherlock. He wanted him, and he wanted him now.

Paying no attention to what Sherlock was saying, John leaned to the side towards him and captured his lips in a desperate kiss. It was careless and clumsy, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind. The dark-haired man actually returned the kiss and John could taste the sweet wine on the man's lips combined with taste that was so much like Sherlock. John's hand found a resting place high on Sherlock's thigh and he could feel the man's trousers tight against his waist.

The sandy-haired man broke off the kiss and looked down at the other man's groin. There was a slight bulge in his pants and John smiled as his hand travelled on top of it and squeezed gently. Sherlock inhaled sharply as John pressed and squeezed the dark-haired man through his clothes, furthering his already half-hard erection and eliciting soft moans deep from his chest.

Before John returned to kissing the man, he spoke, "Lie down for me, love." Sherlock obliged with minimal struggle, the alcohol inhibiting his usual gracefulness, and laid down on the couch, the back of it pressing against his left side.

John then unzipped the other man's trousers and undid the button. He carefully pulled down the material, lifting Sherlock's hips up to slide the trousers down around them. Sherlock quickly kicked off his shoes as the trousers met his ankles and slid them off the rest if the way with his feet. He could feel his member twitching as John crawled back up his legs and looked at him with heat in his eyes.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt like he was prey to John, a strong, lusting predator. When the sandy-haired man reached Sherlock's face with his own, the dark-haired man squirmed a bit before rolling onto his side, feeling safer when he wasn't being loomed upon and silently begging John to do the same. The other man apparently heard his silent plea as he shifted his weight, wincing slightly as his shoulder flared in pain at the sudden added weight, but laid down as best he could on the small space for him.

"All right?" John asked before he decided to snog and grope the man again.

Sherlock nodded and tilted his head sideways and leaned forward, capturing John's lips in a soft kiss. Chaste at first, the kiss soon became deep and fierce, both men invading the other's open mouths with their tongue. John could feel pressure on and off on his hips and member and could only think that Sherlock was pressing his own hips against his. He thrust his hips softly forward and felt Sherlock's hardness through their layers of clothes. They began to pick up speed with their thrusts, moaning each time their cocks touched through the fabric.

A few more hard thrusts and John was prepared to take off his own trousers, pants along with it. As he struggled to take off his clothes, he felt the solid couch go out from underneath him, replaced by the disorienting feeling of the world dropping from under him. Before he hit the floor, his head collided with the edge of the table beside the couch, causing him to yelp in pain when he landed on the floor.

A few seconds of seeing stars and white blotches in his vision passed before he could make out Sherlock, ineffectively hiding a smile behind his hand. When John glared at him he burst into laughter, holding his hands to his stomach and rolling onto his back onto the couch.

"You fell!" Sherlock said.

"Great deduction. You must be some sort of genius," John retorted, seeing that Sherlock drunk was not as keen as Sherlock normally. He was blushing intensely from embarrassment and could feel the throb of pain receding into a dull ache as he lifted himself from the floor, careful not to hit the table again on the way up.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock asked more serious. His eyes flitted over John's figure and held concern as he reached his hand out, beckoning him to come sit on the couch.

"Yeah," John lied. His head was pounding. He'd be surprised if he didn't have some sort of concussion.

"You're lying," Sherlock stated. "Let me see your head," said the dark-haired man as he reached for the back of John's head.

With a sigh, John surrendered to Sherlock's care for the moment, letting him examine his head for any serious injuries. He winced when the man's slender hand made contact where the table had hit him and steeled himself as Sherlock poked and prodded at the site of the pain.

"See anything?" John asked.

"Looks like just a bruise, John. You'll be fine," Sherlock said as he lowered his hands into his lap.

Before John could respond, his stomach clenched and he could feel the alcohol and all other food he had eaten make its way up to his throat. He ran for the bathroom, covering his mouth with his hand. When he made it to the bathroom, he bent over the toilet and vomited everything he had eaten and drank in the past few hours, which was mostly ale and wine.

"Ugh," John groaned once he was done. He flushed the toilet and went to the sink and started to brush his teeth. Sherlock tentatively walked into the doorframe.

"Alright?" he asked, still smiling slightly.

"Yeah. I think I need to go to bed though," he paused. "Sorry. Sex will have to wait," John said with a smirk.

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine with that. I don't want you getting _me_ sick," Sherlock said with a disgusted face. After a moment of watching John brush his teeth, he asked, "Where are you going to sleep?"

"My room? Where else would I sleep?" John answered with his brow furrowing.

"You can sleep in my room. It would be better. So you don't have to go upstairs and risk your health because you're drunk and so you can be close to the bathroom if you get sick again and-" By this point, Sherlock was rambling and John held up a hand to stop him.

"I get it, Sherlock. Alright, I'll sleep in your bedroom. You going to sleep?" he asked as he put the toothbrush back and rinsed his mouth with mouthwash.

"Most likely," the dark-haired man said with a yawn.

"Alright. Be in there in a minute. I just need to go change."

After John changed into his pajamas, a loose tee shirt and comfy pants, he entered Sherlock's room warily to find the sleuth was already in bed and asleep. The sandy-haired man smiled and climbed in next to the other man as quietly as possible, so as not to wake him. He wasn't successful and heard Sherlock grumble and turn towards John. He wrapped his arms around him, snuggling him tightly. John smiled and closed his eyes, letting his drunken dreams take over his mind and body.


	11. Shower Sex

Shower Sex

_His hand was holding the solid and cold gun, which was pointed at someone's head. Who's head exactly? Sherlock stared at what he could see of the person, and could see sandy-colored hair, broad shoulders, and a short torso. _

_ John. _

_ Sherlock tried to ask the man a question, but he couldn't talk. He couldn't even move. He was trying to, but his body wasn't following his mind's commands. 'What's happening?' he thought. _

_ Sherlock's hand shifted of its own accord to rest on the brow of John's forehead, making him flinch and tense up. Then, the dark-haired man put his other hand on top of the one that was holding the gun and began to tense his hand up and flex the forefinger that was on the trigger. _

His eyes snapped open and he came back to the waking world with a gasp. He jolted up from laying down on the bed and felt an unusual amount of pressure on his chest. Sherlock looked down and saw John's hand on him. He looked to his right and saw John's concerned face staring at him through the dim light in the room.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said running a shaking hand through his hair. He felt his hair damp and limp from sweat. He realized he also felt damp all over his body and could see a thin layer a sweat coating his body, making him shiver a bit at the cool air in the room. "Really," he added in a trembling voice.

"You sure? You're really sweating and shaking and all. Want to talk?" John asked rubbing Sherlock's back.

Sherlock let his head fall into his hands as he mumbled, "No. I need a shower." He got up from the bed, letting John's hand slip from his back and quickly walked into the bathroom. When the door was shut, he covered his face with his slender hands and sighed angrily.

Why had he been having dreams like this? He cared for John immensely. He had no ill-will towards the man whatsoever and he knew he would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. Yet, here he was, having a battle with his mind, fighting the fear that accompanied the nightmare. It was irrational to feel afraid, but Sherlock knew that even if he told himself that a million times, it still wouldn't be able to quell the natural fear that seemed to follow him from his dreams into his waking life.

He sighed, much calmer now than before and began to strip. He knew John was already worried about him, with him retreating into the bathroom so quickly instead of trusting John enough to tell what was bothering him. Sherlock took off the last of his clothes and started the water, letting the warm liquid wash down his hand first before he fully stepped in.

When he was completely underneath the shower head, he heard a knock on the bathroom door followed by a timid, "Sherlock?" It was John, coming to check on him to make sure he was really okay and not having some sort of panic attack.

"Yes, John. Come in," Sherlock called out from behind the shower curtain. His hair was wet and it dripped onto the tiled floor as his head peeked out from inside the shower. John walked in clad only in the boxers he sleeps in and holding a towel in his hand.

"Can I join you?" he asked cautiously. He knew Sherlock despised talking when it had anything to do with sentiment or feelings he supposedly didn't have, so John would just be there with him. A pillar of light in the haunting darkness.

Sherlock pulled a slight, appreciative smile before stepping back behind the shower curtain and pulling it back, allowing John to step in with him. Once John was free of his pants, he stepped into the shower, taking care to not trip on the ledge on the floor.

John surprised Sherlock when he gently held the sides of his face to pull it down, bringing him into a deep kiss. He made a muffled noise in the back of his throat when his lips were parted by John's strong tongue, thoroughly exploring the inside of his mouth. He could feel the wet muscle lick the insides of his cheeks and tongue as the heat gathered in his face and stomach.

John shifted his weight and Sherlock jumped as the shorter man's cock brushed against his own, bringing it to full life. He could feel his thickening erection heavy on his hips as John pressed his hips against Sherlock's, trapping the two erections trapped between them. Sherlock gasped when John pulled back after a few small thrust and instead gripped the dark-haired man's cock with a firm hand.

The water was getting cold now, making their nipples hard and their cocks not as hard as usual. Sherlock could feel the hot arousal being doused into a cool want with the cold water cascading all over his body. John didn't seem to mind though, when he began to kiss from Sherlock's mouth to his jaw to his neck then to his chest and was lowering himself to Sherlock's stomach and groin. The dark-haired man's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly. John's hand ghosted over the other man's hips before reaching behind him and grabbing his arse gently, kneading the tense muscles.

John kissed the skin by the base of his member as Sherlock shivered and sighed as his head lolled back onto his shoulders. "Cold?" John asked as he reached behind Sherlock and adjusted the temperature of the water. "Better?" he said once finished.

Sherlock hummed a reply and relaxed slightly as the warm water washed away the chill on his skin. John smiled and said, "Good," before continuing to kiss the skin on Sherlock's hips and around his cock. He then quickly abandoned Sherlock's arse in favour of holding the man's cock still while he slid it into his mouth half-way. Sherlock yelled out a chocked moan as his hands flew up to the sandy-haired man's head and gripped what he could of his hair. John licked and sucked lightly at the tip of Sherlock's member and slowly pumped the rest of the shaft with his hands. The dark-haired man could feel the heat coming back, now more concentrated in his groin and cock.

Sherlock was panting now, as he began to thrust his hips timidly into John's mouth. He moaned in frustration when John removed his mouth from Sherlock's erection and stood up to kiss him and said, "Let's go to your room, love."

Sherlock, still dazed by the feeling of John's mouth on his cock, nodded dumbly and followed John out of the shower, letting himself be dried. Once they were dry, John led Sherlock into the bedroom.


	12. Anal Sex

Anal Sex

As the two men stumbled into the quiet room, Sherlock's heart picked up pace and his body began to heat up. He could feel his cock hot and heavy between his legs as he shut the door behind him, closing off the rest of the world from his bedroom.

He turned around and his full, plush lips were met with John's small, firm ones. The dark-haired man grunted in surprise, and let his hands skim the edge of John's chest making him shiver. His hands gripped the other man's waist in a bruising hold as the kiss deepened.

Sherlock could feel John's tongue pressing into his own in his mouth with fervor, cutting off his air. They pulled apart both gasping for breath. John, still panting for air, pulled Sherlock flush against his body and planted firm kisses on his collar bone. Sherlock moaned and wrapped his arms tightly around John, pulling them even closer together.

The sandy-haired man walked with the dark-haired man towards the bed, gently lowering him into his back while lavishing his chest with firm, desperate kisses. Sherlock whimpered at the contact of the other man's lips on his skin while his hands traveled up to John's head, gripping what he could of the short hair. He rutted against John and pulled the man's head down to where his ear was level with Sherlock's lips.

He whispered, "Please, John…" He didn't know what he was asking for, but he knew that John would be able to help him in this time of need. "Please," he repeated. He could feel John's hardness pressing against his naked leg and felt his own erection getting harder between John's legs. The pre-come leaking out of Sherlock's tip made it slick wherever his cock came into contact with John's body, it becoming easier to rut and slide against him.

John kissed and licked at Sherlock's neck as he continued to rut against him, nipping lightly at the sensitive flesh to make the man whimper in pain and pleasure. "What do you need, Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock whimpered loudly and tightened his grip in John's hair as he moaned, "You… John, I need," he panted as John's hand groped his arse and struggled to continue, "… I need… ugh, more, John."

John could feel his member throbbing with need now, flushed and twitching with lust. "Do you trust me, Sherlock?" John managed to say in a slightly shaking voice.

Sherlock groaned a response and tensely nodded his head.

John planted a quick kiss on the other man's lips before saying, "I'll be right back. I need to get something from my room." He lifted himself off of Sherlock with his arms and was about to leap off the bed, but was stopped by the man's grip of his arm.

"I have some," Sherlock mumbled with a serious stare. "In the drawer," he said flicking his head to the nightstand beside the bed.

John paused for a moment before reaching over to the nightstand and opening the drawer. He groped around blindly for the bottle and eventually found the lubrication. "Okay then," John said awkwardly. "That's… good."

"Yes," Sherlock whispered after swallowing loudly. His eyes flicked from the wall, to the bottle, to John's eyes, back to the wall uncomfortably. John noticed Sherlock's discomfort and brought a hand to caress the side of his face.

"You sure you want to do this? We really don't have to," he said setting the lube down on the bed beside them.

"Yes, I'm sure," Sherlock snapped. His eyes widened guiltily and he sighed. "I'm sorry. I do, I'm just…"

"Nervous?" John supplied.

Sherlock hummed in agreement and chewed on his lower lip. "I don't know what to do, either," he said quietly.

"It's alright," John said with a soft smile. "I'll guide you through it, alright?"

Sherlock smiled, relieved, and said, "Alright."

John went back to kissing Sherlock on his lips firmly and rutted against him. His hand traveled across the bed to the nightstand where the lube was and curled his fingers around it. The sandy-haired man lifted his head from Sherlock's and sat back on his haunches, straddling the other man's leg.

He squeezed out a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and lowered his hand to his member. He gripped his cock and slicked it with the lubrication and began to stroke himself slowly. The cold liquid made him tense slightly, but it began to warm as his strokes became faster. He moaned softly under his breath and let his eyes fall closed as the heat in his belly intensified.

Sherlock watched John with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes and clenched and unclenched his hands in the sheets, not sure what he should do. He could feel John's arse rubbing back and forth on his leg with his movements and jumped when a drop of lube fell onto his member. He sighed in pleasure and continued to watch John as he slowed his pace.

Once John was satisfied with the amount of lube on his erection, he squeezed out more onto his index and middle finger.

"Spread your legs for me, love," John said in a deep voice.

Sherlock swallowed and parted his legs, allowing John access to him entrance.

"This might sting a bit, but it'll get better," he informed. John used the hand that was free of lubrication to bend Sherlock's legs at his knees and to rub the man's cheek and he slid his slicked fingers down the perineum and into his clenched hole.

Sherlock made a light hissing sound as John penetrated him with his fingers and involuntarily clenched tighter around the intrusion.

"Relax, love. Just relax," John sooth as he rubbed at Sherlock's nipple with his free hand. He pushed his index finger in slowly and began to pull back out when his knuckle his the entrance. Before his finger was fully outside of Sherlock again, he plunged it back into his hole, curling it downward, just brushing his prostate. Sherlock gasped and arched his back slightly when John touched the sensitive gland and groaned as he pulled back out again.

"More…" Sherlock moaned. He could feel himself loosening beneath John's touch and could more easily relax.

John kept up the slow rhythm he had set, slowly entering the man and purposefully hitting his prostate each time he pushed in again and again. Sherlock let out a string of moans and grunts whenever the man plunged into him.

"Ready for two?" John asked. He didn't wait for an answer from the man and slid his middle finger inside Sherlock's tight heat along with his index. The dark-haired man moaned loud enough, John could feel the reverberations through his chest. He swallowed thickly, relishing in the fact that he could make Sherlock come undone like this, needy and moaning and desperate. He felt his member give a firm twitch and decided to speed up his rhythm.

He rammed his fingers into Sherlock, twisting and stretching his hole as he did so. Sherlock groaned his half-pleasure, half-pain, the sudden speed taking him off-guard.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" he grunted as John pounded into him, hitting his prostate hard each time. "John, I- I can't! I'm-"

"Shh… Alright, it's alright," he said as he stopped his rhythm and massaged the inside of Sherlock's hole gently. "You ready?" he asked, unable to keep the desperate need out of his voice.

Sherlock nodded and looked up at John and he re-slicked his cock with lube and positioned himself above Sherlock.

John pushed forward, sliding in effortlessly and stopped when half of his member was encased in Sherlock's tight heat. "Oh, God…" John moaned, hanging his head between his shoulders. John began to pull back out slowly, feeling the sow drag of heat tight around his cock. When his tip was just inside Sherlock's entrance, he pushed back in. Sherlock sighed and his eyes fluttered closed when John's length pushed in a little farther, stretching him to the size of his girth.

Sherlock laid a hand on John's shoulder making him look up and said, "You can… go faster, John. I won't, ugh, break."

"Right," John replied tensely. He pulled back out and snapped his hips into Sherlock, making the dark-haired man grunt in surprise. John set up a steady rhythm, almost completely inside Sherlock whenever he would push in. He could feel the heat in his belly travelling to his groin, a sign that he was getting close. He could only hope that Sherlock felt the same.

"You, ugh, good?" John asked.

"Mm hm," Sherlock hummed. "And yes, I'm, ah, close as well, if that's what you were, ugh, wondering," he added.

John gave a quick smile before letting it drop so he could focus on the task at hand. He picked up his speed, his hips hitting Sherlock's arse each time he pounded into the man. Before he could go too far over the edge, John angled his hips down just a bit and knew he had found Sherlock's prostate with his member when the man's mouth opened into a wide O-shape and he shuddered around John.

"John!" he yelled. "I- I- I'm going- to-"

John didn't answer, but kept up his relentless pounding. Sherlock suddenly yelled out unintelligible words and noises and he clenched hard around John, making the sandy-haired man pound hard once more into Sherlock before he climaxed. They came, hard and fast, together as Sherlock yelled and John moaned loudly.

When their orgasms subsided, they were left panting and sweating on each other, John still buried deep in Sherlock. After a few minutes of enjoying the post-coital bliss, John pulled out and watched as his come leaked from Sherlock's hole. He tore his eyes away from the sight and collapsed onto the bed next to Sherlock. He turned his head to the side to see Sherlock staring at him with soft, vulnerable eyes.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock mumbled. He shifted closer to John and wrapped his arms around the man's chest. He smiled contentedly and sighed exhaustedly. "That was… good," he said after a moment's silence.

"Yeah," John agreed. And they fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms and completely satisfied.


	13. Sex In A Workplace

Sex In A Workplace

Just minutes after they finished, Sherlock's phone pinged an alert. Sherlock groaned as he woke from his snooze, already knowing who it was and not wanting to spoil the sweet haze of bliss that covered them like a blanket. He rolled over onto his back, looking at the phone on the nightstand with loathing and grudgingly reached over, snatching up the device.

_You two'll want to come down here. Got a murder. Think you might be interested. Connaught Square by Seymour St. GL_

"Wha's that?" John asked groggily.

"Lestrade. He says he might have a case for us," Sherlock replied while typing away a response to the DI's text. Once the text was sent he threw off the covers, quickly realized he was still nude, and hurried over to his drawers to find a fresh pair of pants since his others were dirty and still sitting on the floor of the bathroom. He slipped the boxers on and turned back around to find John eyeing him with a smirk and a glint in his eyes.

"What?" Sherlock asked warily.

"Oh, nothing. I was just enjoying the view," John shrugged and waved a dismissive hand.

Sherlock blushed fiercely, forgetting that John was awake and he had just crossed the room completely naked. He knew John was only joking- well partially joking- but it was still embarrassing for reasons he couldn't discern.

John shook his head, smiling, and chuckled. He threw the duvet off of his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed, stretching as he did so.

Meanwhile, Sherlock pouted at having been seen embarrassed and longingly gazed at John's bulky figure before tearing his eyes away. He wasn't going to let John catch him looking and he had to focus on Work now anyways.

The dark-haired man strode over to his closet and rifled through it before pulling out his favourite shirt and trousers. The purple shirt. He knew it was one of John's favourites as well and chose it slightly to excite John. He smiled to himself at his deviousness before taking the shirt of the hanger and slipping the smooth material over his arms and shoulders and buttoning it up with speed.

While dressing, Sherlock's mind wandered to what the case was that Lestrade thought he and John would take interest in. it had to be some kind of murder, otherwise, the DI wouldn't have been so vague. He always thought he's got something over Sherlock when he gets a good case for him. In a way, he did, but Sherlock would never let the man know that. He pulled on his trousers and did up the fly and button before opening the drawer to his sock index. He was on autopilot now, too engrossed in what the case could be to focus on anything else. He grabbed the first pair of socks that his hand travelled to and slipped them on after sitting on the edge of the bed. He bent over and snatched up his shoes, putting them on, not bothering to untie and retie them. His eyes were glazed over, his mind quite obviously within the depths of his Mind Palace, going over the type of murder it could be, if it really was a murder, what gender, and even the type of person who did the murdering. All that, he could deduce from the text Lestrade had sent.

Sherlock sighed and came back to Earth, his deductions coming to a halt since there was nothing else to deduce from the text. He looked around, noticing with a start that he was alone. When did John even _leave_? Sherlock often did this: becoming so absorbed in cases and his Mind Palace to notice John anymore. It was only John. The sleuth would always notice where he would set something, who else entered the flat, and he could even deduce and catalogue who they were all while pulled away in his Mind Palace. But not John. Never John. He would never notice if he had left, if he was speaking, what he was doing, or what he had been doing. Sherlock's brow furrowed in worry, trying to discern the reasons for this inability to notice John when his mind was occupied. He suspected it was due to the importance of John as a whole. He took up too much space and energy to be noticed when Sherlock was thinking. John was more important to him than anything, even Work. But, for the life of him, he couldn't seem to change the fact that John was too large a file in his Palace to be focused on all the time.

Sherlock sighed and strained his ears to listen for any sounds that would indicate where John had gone. He could hear the sound of the kettle and running water from the kitchen, letting him know John was making tea. He grunted as he got up from the bed and walked into the kitchen to see John. He was wearing his normal clothes: jeans, a button-up, collared shirt, brown shoes, and a solid color jumper.

John turned as Sherlock entered the kitchen and asked, "Tea?" as he held up an empty mug.

"Sure," Sherlock replied. "We need to hurry though. I want to leave soon," he added as John went back to fixing their drinks.

"Of course."

Within minutes, the tea was done and they were hurriedly drinking it, taking care to not spill it on themselves as they did so. Once finished, Sherlock bolted up from his seat in his chair and grabbed his Belstaff, slipping it on. He took the stairs down two at a time and hailed a cab once at the street, knowing John would be right behind him. He told that cabbie where he was off to and they rode in peaceful silence to the crime scene.

Once at Connaught Square, Sherlock and John were greeted by a very solemn Lestrade. They could see the frown on his face from the street and both men glanced at each other before walking quickly over to the DI.

"What took you two so long? Usually you'd be here in a split second," Lestrade demanded in a gruff tone. When John opened his mouth to answer, he held up his hand and said, "No, I actually don't wanna know. Now, come on." The DI led them over to the other edge of the park, gesturing for Donovan and Anderson to join them as well. Sherlock grunted in annoyance and Lestrade said exhaustedly, "Behave yourself with these two, Sherlock. I don't have to let you in here. Technically I'm not even supposed to."

"But you need—" Sherlock started.

Lestrade interrupted him, "Yeah, yeah. I need your help. That doesn't mean you can treat them how you want," he said indicating the approaching Donovan and Anderson.

When the pair were finally upon the other three Donovan pursed her lips and greeted Sherlock in her usual way. "Freak."

John cleared his throat and looked at the woman harshly.

After a moment, Donavan turned around with a huff, not wanting to be ridiculed and bullied like she had been before.

"Right," Lestrade said, eyeing John carefully, "anyways, I need to run back by the office to get some paperwork, so Anderson and Donovan will have to fill you in. Be nice," he ordered and after a moment added, "both of you."

John and Sherlock snickered like school boys when the DI was far enough out of earshot. "What did you do? What did you say to Sally, I mean?" Sherlock asked once they were done giggling.

John smiled at Sherlock and pulled an innocent face and said, "What _ever_ do you mean, Sherlock? I did nothing at all."

"Oh, I'm sure," Sherlock muttered. "Please?" he asked. He waited impatiently for John to tell him what he said to Donovan to make her ignore Sherlock instead of antagonizing him like she normally did.

John relented and told his secret to the dark-haired man, who promptly burst into laughter, throwing his head back and smiling with vengeful glee.

"God, John. You can be an arse at the best of time, you know?" Sherlock said once he was done wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Yeah, oh well," John replied with a smirk. "Come on. Case to solve, remember?"

Sherlock nodded to the sandy-haired man and turned to follow the direction Donovan went, coat twirling as he turned. John's eyes glanced down at the man's arse, made visible by the twirl of his Belstaff, and he bit his lip. He tried to focus on other things, instead of Sherlock's arse, but to no avail. His eyes lingered for a few seconds longer before their view was obscured by the man's coat once again. John's thoughts travelled to their time together earlier that morning and his member gave a weak twitch.

He grunted uncomfortably and followed Sherlock with tense steps, trying to hide his growing erection. When they were caught up with Donovan, she glanced back at them once, gave a disgusted noise and began to fill them in on what the Yard and her team knew so far.

"Aiden Roberts, twenty-three, was found at around six-thirty this morning. Janice Williams, the girl who found the body, called us and we got here 15 minutes later. From what we can tell, the victim died of asphyxiation from her his own vomit. We estimate he had been dead for around 4 hours, putting his time of death around two this morning. An empty pill bottle and a syringe were found in his coat pockets and were taken up for evidence," she said while walking to the middle of the crime scene where the body was laying.

Sherlock stopped suddenly, his brow furrowed in annoyed confusion. "Then why was I called here? It sounds like a drug overdose," he said before making a sound a realization. "Oh, wait, let me guess. There was evidence to suggest otherwise? Maybe evidence of struggle or an odd lack of money?" he asked.

Donovan continued, "There were marks all over her ranging from scratches and bruises, to bites, and lacerations. We think that the victim had some type of lethal drug forced on her somehow and that's why she died from her own vomit. We haven't been able to get any data from the wounds on the victim of who the assailant might be, but we're working on it," she paused, glancing back at Sherlock and John, "That was when my boss decided to call _you_."

Once arriving where the body was located, Sherlock immediately bent down to make his own examinations of the body. John on the other hand, took the time to enjoy the view of Sherlock's lean body leaning over the corpse. He knew it was wrong; he shouldn't be fantasizing about the man _now_ of all times, but he couldn't help it. There was just something so enticing about imagining that long and flexible body wrapped around his own in a passionate lock of limbs.

John snapped out of his reverie when Sherlock straightened and asked, "Where is Janice? I need to ask her some questions.

Donovan narrowed her eyes at Sherlock before pointing to the buildings in front of them and saying, "At her flat. She's was with some officers earlier, but I think she said she wanted them to leave. She didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. She gave us enough, so try not to bother her too much."

Sherlock looked at John and opened his mouth to say something, but as his eyes quickly glanced down to the man's crotch, he shut his mouth with a snap. He swallowed awkwardly and spun around, walking towards the building Donovan indicated. His eyes were now downcast, occasionally looking up to see where he was going and didn't wait for John to follow.

When John noticed that Sherlock had seen the bulge in his pants, he silently cursed and followed the dark-haired man quickly. Once they were at the flats and inside, John caught hold of Sherlock's arm and spun him around, trapping him between himself and the door. The man's face was red with blush and his breathing was shallower and quicker than usual. His pupils were also dilated and his whole body seemed primed for some sort of action. And John knew just the kind of action they both wanted and needed.

John looked into the other man's blue-green eyes and leaned forward to press his lips to Sherlock's. Small, firm lips met full, plush ones and Sherlock let out a small whimper. "John…" he whispered softly. "I—I need…"

John smiled on Sherlock's lips and asked quietly, "What do you need, Sherlock?" He let his hand travel down to the other man's hardening member and groped the dark-haired man through his trousers. Sherlock moaned and he slightly bucked his hips into John's hand.

"I need… more, John," he whimpered. "More, please," he begged.

John let out a heavy breath and deftly unzipped Sherlock's black trousers and began to work his erection through his pants. "You like this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock moaned and nodded his head jerkily in reply. He was rolling his hips quickly into John's hand now, chafing himself on the rough pants material. John looked down and could see the man's member restricted by the dark material and used his other hand to slowly pull down his pants.

"John," Sherlock breathed while gripping his back and waist with his hands. He gasped when John's cool hand made contact on his hot member and tossed his head back slightly when he began to pump gently. "Oh, God, John. Please, more, please…" he moaned.

John leaned forward more to press his own hard erection against Sherlock's leg and ended up pushing the two into the corner of the room, off of the door. He was about to quicken his pace when he heard voices outside the doorway, coming closer. He stopped and Sherlock froze as well and they listened.

"… told them she was alone." Said a familiar female voice.

"Yeah, well that woman's had enough questioning for today, she doesn't need Sherlock interrogating her too." Said a gruff male voice. Lestrade.

The door to the building Sherlock and John were in opened and they froze, John's hand still on Sherlock's cock and Sherlock's pants still down around his thighs.


	14. Getting Caught

Getting Caught

John still had his hands down Sherlock's trousers, his fingers wrapped around the man's cock when Lestrade and Donovan walked through the door. At first they didn't see the two men because they were engrossed in their own conversation, but that could soon change.

Lestrade had his head turned away from Sherlock and John when he was talking with Donovan, but when he turned to his right, his eyes focused quickly on the men's faces, flicked quickly to their waists and hands, and flicked back to their eyes, his face now flushed a deep red. Donovan did the same, though she seemed less embarrassed and more disgusted with the sight before her.

Before she could say a word, the DI promptly turned around, gripped her by the shoulders, and exited the building. He mumbled something to her about keeping quiet and 'forget you ever saw it'.

Sherlock and John on the other hand were still frozen and didn't say a word as they removed themselves from each other's space, John taking his hands out of Sherlock's pants and Sherlock zipping up his trousers. When they were presentable, they locked eyes with each other and burst into laughter.

"Never doing that again," John said as he wiped tears from his eyes.

"Agreed," Sherlock replied with a chuckle.

Lestrade came in the building a second later, seething mad. "So which one of you wants to explain just what you thought you were doing then?" he asked in a short, snappy tone.

"I believe you already know what we were doing," Sherlock muttered as he clasped his hands behind his back.

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Unfortunately, I do. And you know I want to know why you two," he said raising his voice and jabbing his fingers at the two of them, "thought you could just… do that. And in the middle of a case of a case? Really?"

This time Sherlock didn't have anything witty or sarcastic to say, and instead looked down at his feet like a scolded child. John was doing the same, his face red with shame.

"Well? Explain yourselves," Lestrade demanded.

Eventually, John spoke up. "We, uh… we didn't know what we were thinking," he said softly.

"Obviously not," was all Lestrade said. He folded his arms over his chest and stared down at John, emanating disappointment.

"Uh, we're… sorry?" John said as a question, not sure what else the DI wanted. When he realized an apology was exactly what he needed, he apologized correctly. "We're sorry. Me and Sherlock- we're sorry. We really are. Right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock huffed a bit of laughter. "To say 'sorry' would mean I regret my actions. And to say I regret—" John elbowed him in the side and beamed a smile at Lestrade as Sherlock grunted in pain. "I, uh, mean… Sorry. I'm sorry," he said as he bowed his head slightly.

Lestrade glanced back and forth between the two in silence before unfolding his arms and saying, "As long as you two don't try that again."

They both nodded quickly.

"Good. Now, you ready to solve this case?" he asked Sherlock.

"Obviously," Sherlock replied.

Lestrade smiled. "Then let's get back to the crime scene.


End file.
